A Poison Dagger, a Liberating Experience
by SkiesRainingRed
Summary: Seeking to break free from her strict Demacian upbringing, Luxanna Crownguard grows to understand the Noxian way. A notable Noxian sorcerer becomes an unlikely ally in her pursuits, even if only motivated by his own selfish, twisted goals. Rated M for violence and sexual themes in later chapters. WIP.
1. A Poison Dagger

Luxanna had always wanted to travel the world. Her dreams had drawn her beyond her beloved home, and she'd never been away long enough to grow homesick. When the Illuminant ones commanded her to only use her talents beyond the country's borders, she saw it as a new beginning. Away from the crushing weight of Demacia's magic dampening petricide, she breathed a bit more freely and set her sights far beyond the horizon.

Having lived in fear of Demacian prejudice, she had learned not to judge. Yet her first visit to Noxus defied her best attempts at keeping an open mind. Something about the simplistic brutalism of the outer walls, the filthy slums she had to wade through and the Noxians' endless obsession with conquest put her off beyond belief.

Regardless, Lux approached the exotic empire with renewed interest on her second visit. She stayed at the home of a Demacian expat, a rich merchant who found Noxus Prime an all too fertile soil for his ingenuity and willingness to trade with practitioners of magic. Two years had passed since her first visit and she'd proven herself enough to head far more important diplomatic missions.

The spoils of conquest flowed like a mighty river into the pockets of Noxian nobility, especially the generals, tacticians and mages who could prove their loyalty to Swain. As a result Lux was certain to see the right people at one of the numerous celebrations which illuminated Upper Noxus at night. The empire adored it's numerous mages and they, in turn, stuck together in guilds and societies. Lux sought to negotiate with members of the Arcane Fist, while hoping to eavesdrop on whatever else a mage's party could entail.

The lights of Upper Noxus dazzled Lux as she ascended the granite staircase. She noticed that no two structures looked alike. Land was expensive here and every noble family made sure to decorate their manor in a unique way, some going as far as to exile or maim the architect who created it, so that no one could benefit from his work ever again. Indeed, not even the most glamorous areas of Noxus were safe, and the bodyguard Lux was assigned was a testament to that. Alaria was her trusted partner in this mission, and was also gifted with near supernatural agility and skill in close-quarter combat.

There were guests from around the world at the party. There were Zaunite traders of hextech weaponry, an Ionian shadow mage, and even representatives of stranger lands and tribes, ones that Demacia did not concern itself with. Not everyone was a mage – some were just nobility looking to recruit powerful allies, or acquire innovative tools. Lux basked in the vibrancy of the event and felt herself warm up to how cosmopolitan Noxus could be.

And yet, when Alaria and Lux withdrew to the back garden for a breath of fresh air, they were given a reason to dread the city. They watched, startled, as four veiled figures descended from a nearby rooftop onto the brick fence, and finally landed in the flower square near the two women. Lux was quick to react and her bodyguard was even quicker – drawing her shortsword, the Demacian prepared to face the intruders.

Luxanna soon realised that despite the presence of several other important nobles in the garden, she alone was the target of these four anonymous men. A radiant orb formed at her fingertips, blinding the assassins as they dashed towards her. Alaria took it from there, somehow managing to fend off three of them. The fourth leapt towards Lux and soon jumped back, his clothing scorched by the light orb exploding. Wearing black was a terrible choice against scorching radiance.

The light mage had no desire to take a life. But the window of opportunity presented itself and she had to strike first. She took a deep breath and surrendered to the ecstatic flow of energy. A sudden flash brought the light of day back to Noxus for a split second. It was well-aimed, albeit far more powerful than the adrenaline-filled mage had intended it to be. A black ellipse in the flower square marked the spot where the assassin used to be, his ashes indistinguishable from those of the vegetation.

His comrades were demoralised as soon as they registered his disintegration. That, and Alaria managing to stab one through the gut after hacking off his fingers caused the two remaining men to retreat. A magenta spark in the air – presumably an escape spell – and both of them were gone out of sight.

There was nothing but complete silence in the second following the skirmish. Voiceless gratitude shared between the women, nobles tiptoeing towards them to see if they were fine, an increasing number of people rushing into the gardens after the blinding flash of light. It was what enabled Alaria to react as a twin pair of daggers pierced the night air.

Lux reawakened her powers, ready to summon a reflective barrier. But her ally was bent on not leaving anything to chance. A few inches to the right and she was out of the way of the first dagger. Another few and she stopped the second mid-flight.

She had hoped to deflect it with her shortsword, but her bad luck was evident as soon as the sound of steel meeting flesh echoed through the yard. She had gone too far in her loyalty. Alaria fell into Luxanna's arms, the knife buried to the hilt in her chest.

"No," screamed the blonde. She wanted to berate her friend for recklessly trying to stop a blade her magic could have deflected, but was perfectly aware how pointless that would be "Alaria! Can you breathe? Can you hear me?"

The two Demacians were now encircled by a small crowd.

"We need a medic!" someone cried out.

Not that a surgeon could save her, Lux thought bitterly.

Alaria opened her eyes and, with great difficulty, attempted to breathe in. Lux could not help but admire her toughness while wondering how long she had left. She imagined the grains of sand counting her last moments inevitably slip away and prepared to extract the knife herself.

"No, don't touch it," a woman from the crowd rushed towards Lux as her finger reached for the handle of the blade.

Noxians, Ionians, Shuriman tribe leaders – they all looked so very similar in the face of tragedy. Dozens of faces pallid with fear.

"What then?"

"The host of this party... He might be able to help."

 _For a price_ , Lux thought as soon as she realised who she meant.

There was always a price for blood magic.


	2. A Healing Wound?

"Not him," the dying woman croaked, uncaring that the blood mage was just a few feet from her, inspecting the situation. Her voice raspy as if from beyond the grave. Was the dagger stuck in her heart, or were her lungs filling with blood as she attempted to use them?

"Hush," Lux tried to stop her from wasting both her breath and her only chance of survival. Yet she knew how difficult it had been for Alaria to overcome her fear of light magic and could imagine the intense nausea she felt towards the most unsavoury of magical crafts.

Hell, even Luxanna found it hard to control her dread as Vladimir kneeled beside her and attempted to move Alaria onto his lap. He might as well have attempted to stab her again, as she trashed and fought to stop him.

"She's on borrowed time and if you care, you'll do something."

Lux had learned so much about him from spies and their archives. She had always thought they would first meet in a war zone, and likely exchange nothing but a sequence of deadly incantations. It was sheer absurd that she immediately decided to comply with his harshly spoken orders without a single sound of protest.

There was a tranquilizing spell she had used to ease the pain of heavily wounded soldiers. She ran her hand an inch from Alaria's eyes and the woman relaxed, free from her pain and her mortal dilemma. Lux nodded towards the blood mage, hoping she was leaving her ally in good hands.

There had been too many reports of mortally wounded generals returning to the battlefield a week later, in seemingly good condition. The potency of the sanguine arts could not be denied, although the methods used were gruesome. It was said that in their pursuit of power, blood cultists would rip their own hearts out and use them as a living artifact to channel their magic through: a pulsating, swirling orb ready to unleash the horrors trapped within. But then Demacians would say many things about mages.

Placing one hand on her chest and another around the hilt of the dagger, Vladimir prepared to remove the blade. He'd tossed aside his embroidered coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. There was a pulse, a ripple that ran through the veins of his exposed forearm. The dagger came out in one swift move. The man held it near his face for a second, inspecting the blood that covered most of the blade.

"It's poisoned. She needs a donor."

He turned to the crowd, left hand still pressed against Alaria's chest. There was nothing but urgency in his eyes.

"You," he turned towards a female onlooker. She backed off in fear, an unsurprising reaction if one knew of the sacrifices blood mages would ask for." I won't hurt you. She needs the transfusion."

The woman shook her head.

"Can it be me?" Lux said and when the Noxian didn't react, she pulled him by the sleeve. "Can you use my blood?"

"Unsuitable," he said, barely turning to face her, then continued speaking to the crowd. "Please, I will reward you. You, " he gestured towards a young man "Are you a coward?"

The man was a south Noxian, one of the obviously patriotic types. A young officer, perhaps?

"Not for a Demacian I won't."

"She came here in peace. She will leave in peace. We shame Noxus if we're not true to our word."

The effort of maintaining the spell that kept Alaria's blood pressure steady served to fuel his anger, which had now become visible. His presence, threatening and imposing, spread through the air like the calm before a lighting strike. Peasant or prince, you did not want the wrath of a blood mage.

"Or do you agree with what Du Coteau's men attempted?"

The accusation was the final drop. The man walked, angrily, towards the dying Demacian.

"Roll up your sleeve. I need the artery."

He reluctantly presented his arm to Vladimir. The mage placed his fingertips along the vessel without even turning to look.

"You're intoxicated," he murmured, "but your blood type is the right one."

Then, without warning, the ritual began. It wasn't as gruesome as Lux expected, or as Vladimir's usual work was said to be. Yet one could feel the metallic taste of blood magic in the air even before the donor's veins and arteries became aglow with the enchantment, the sorcery spreading under his tan skin like a complex network of glyphs. The mage's own vessels lit up, both of his hands channelling the spell. The donor's teeth clenched. His fist tensed and relaxed, until he snarled in pain. That was when Vladimir let go of him, almost tossing him aside.

Laying Alaria on the ground, he continued his work. The curious onlookers moved a step closer as his long, loose hair fell, blocking the view to his face. Unconcerned, he placed both his hands on the woman's chest. A spiralling, whirling vortex of energy only Lux seemed to be able to sense encircled him. There was a whisper in the air, a presence, the elegant dance of a hunter. It felt almost illegal for her to look upon this scene with the eyes of a mage, the eyes that could see.

The crowd gasped and withdrew as a fountain of gore erupted from beneath Vladimir's palms. He spread his fingers and the liquid danced away, soaking into the grass.

"It's done," he whispered, his voice weak and breathless. "She's fine."

Lux rushed to inspect the cut in Alaria's blouse. She summoned a light at her fingertips and shone it on her chest, and all she could see was healthy, albeit bloodstained skin. Not even a scar.

A movement behind Lux startled her. It was a woman, tall, elegant and intimidating, who had been there throughout the magical display but Lux only now noticed. Her nails were long and predatory and her barely shoulder length hair was that morbidly vibrant shade of crimson one could only see on a Noxian. She leaned and helped Vladimir to his feet and whispered something in his ear. He whispered back, making sure no one else heard. Finally, he half-turned to face Lux and the Noxian whose blood he had taken.

"You - talk to my treasurer for your reward. I apologise for the inconvenience, Crownguard. Take your associate indoors and let her rest."

His hair was still covering most of his face, as if he had no desire to be seen. Lux, however, could make out some of the details behind the thin white veil. Were there lines at the corners of his mouth, crow's feet on the sides of his eyes? It was only a brief moment before he picked up his embroidered coat, turned away, and left the gardens, closely followed by the crimson-haired noblewoman.

In the diverse economy that Noxians had managed to build in their empire's expansion, everyone had a trade. Blood mages were merchants in their own right, and they traded in life, to achieve in a day what even the most proficient surgeon could not do in a year. While it was true they could rig the scales and bargain with the gods of death, a price had to be paid and there had been no one willing to pay it.

Lux decided against following the sorcerer and tended to her associate. Alaria's breathing was weak and her cheeks were pallid, but the woman was indeed alive and unharmed. Once the tranquillizing spell was removed, she lifted her heavy eyelids and and inspected the crown. Moments later, her lips pursed and she lowered her gaze in shame.

"It was necessary," Lux whispered in her ear. "And you can forget this happened."

Alaria attempted to get up, but soon realised her knees were too weak to hold her. The young Noxian who she owed her life to, after brief contemplation, leaned and picked her up.

"Where are you two staying? My name is Zoran, by the way."


End file.
